| A Trip to Remember |
| by ‘Anonymous’ |
The following account recalls my personal encounters and experiences lived when coming to America. Through this narrative I will describe the most pertinent instances that are floating in my mind. It is hard for me to gather all of the events in my life and organize them into a logical sequence, as they somehow seem to have woven themselves together. Regardless, I will tell my story the best way I know how, which is the way I remember it.
I was a young boy no less than fifteen or sixteen years old when I began to get into trouble. My family and I lived very comfortably because my father owned two stores and made a good living. This “comfortable” state represents something that I began to abuse as a boy. I did not care for school or work, but I did care for “the good life.” Drinking, throwing parties, and going out with girls, now that was for me. My parents, concerned with my direction in life, decided that I needed to travel and “grow up.” At the time, I thought traveling was a great idea. America was just another place to party. I was wrong.
My father arranged for me to meet with my cousin, Sammy, who was living in Connecticut. I must mention that Sammy had arrived in America not long before I went. The plan established that I finish high school in the U.S. and through the experience I was to become “a more responsible person,” as my mother liked to say. I was thrilled with the idea until I found out that my father was only going to pay part of my living expenses and the rest would be up to me, this meant getting a job. I remember when my father drove me to the airport, and the speech he gave me containing his so-called words of encouragement before I left. He conveyed his doubts of my ability to make it and made it abundantly clear when he finished his speech by saying: “Just try and at least make it for a few months before you call and say you’re coming home; do it for your mother.” I was so angry and proud at the same time that I promised myself before getting on the plane that I would do whatever I had to do instead of calling and asking for help. I was ready to “prove myself” to him.
It was a good thing that the flight was six hours long from Colombia because I had just enough time to cool down after what my father had said. I landed in the Hartford, Connecticut airport and was anxious to see Sammy, who was supposed to be waiting for me when I arrived. As soon as I got off that airplane I knew my new life experience was going to be a struggle. All sorts of people were moving and walking all over the place. It almost felt as if they were coming out of thin air. I became very overwhelmed by this action, not to mention that I had never seen so many different people in one place at one time. I should point out that in Colombia, where I come from, practically everyone is Hispanic, and there were very little immigrants at that time compared to the amount there were here. I looked everywhere, my left, right, up, down and saw different colored skin, hair, and even mode of dressing. The noise from people talking sounded like screams to me, only because I understood nothing. I could not concentrate on only one conversation; instead, I had to listen to all of them at the same time. This unknown place and language resulted in the first time I felt truly lost.
Much to my disappointment, Sammy was not waiting for me as he had promised. I waited for an hour getting more and more anxious and nervous by the minute. I decided I couldn’t wait any longer, I was going to find someway of getting to his house, “How hard could it be,” I thought, after all I did have his address. I began to look around the airport for a place to get a taxi getting discouraged rather quickly since I was already annoyed at the fact Sammy was not there. Then suddenly this miraculous sign appeared, “TAXIs.” I couldn’t believe I understood something. Up until now all the signs looked like gibberish to me since they were in English, and I only spoke Spanish. I proceeded to the line and wait for a cab. Once in the cab, it was a different story. I pulled out my cousin’s address and signaled to the taxi cab driver, as I pointed to the paper: “Go, plis,” I said in my very limited English. The man was patient with me and answered slowly and loudly: “O.K.,” as if I were deaf. We drove in silence for what seemed to me an eternity. I began to wonder where this man was taking me, if we had driven this long back home we might be entering a different state by now so I asked: “Connecticut?” and the driver again answered, as if speaking to a deaf person, “YES.” Just from the cab drive I realized how large this country must be if we were still in the same state, yet had driven for so long. Finally, we entered a place call Greenwich and I began to see enormous houses, which impressed me quite a bit. However, the driver and I happened to move further and further away from this area to a more regular looking place, not so fancy and vast as before, until we stopped at an apartment building.
I arrived at Sammy’s door and knocked excitedly. Sammy answered the door with a look of surprise on his face, “You made it?!” he said. I disregarded the fact that he also doubted me and embraced him joyfully. I guess Sammy thought I would wait all night at the airport until he showed up; instead, I surprised him and arrived to his house on my own. He showed me around his humble “one bedroom” apartment, which was actually a studio apartment. I settled in rather quickly and Sammy told me I should get some rest because we had a busy schedule the next day. First we were going to enroll me into the high school he attended and then he had arranged for me to meet with his boss at the restaurant where he worked. I was not ready to rest. I expected to stay up drinking and catching up on life like we would have done at home if some one were visiting. I have fond memories of when an out-of-town guest would arrive at my parent’s house. My parents would make a large meal and drink some aguardiente to get the welcoming party started. The guest would usually bring gifts to our home if they were going to stay there, sometimes the gifts would be food or maybe something for the house. I had imagined my first night at Sammy’s to be the way my parents received a guest. I would be the out-of-town guest and Sammy would have the welcoming party prepared. Sammy turned my idea down and said: “Not now cousin, you have to start to understand things are different here, and now is not the time for celebration. We will celebrate some other time.” “Some other time,” I thought, and boy was I disappointed these “gringos” were already changing Sammy.
The next morning Sammy and I got an early start, and went to the high school. My first sight of the high school made me feel extremely intimidated. Most of the students were white and I could tell they were wealthy, just by their appearance. Both the boys and girls were very neatly dressed with each hair in the perfect place. Sammy did all of the talking inside, and my only choice was to trust what he was saying because I did not understand a word. The school put me in the same classes with Sammy, which I imagine was so that no one else would be bothered with helping me. One of our most memorable classes was ESL, English as a second language. Now at this time the size of these classes represented nothing like they do today. There was only one class no matter what level of English you possessed. The class was made up of four students in the whole school: Luke who had recently arrived from Poland, Juan from Ecuador, and Sammy and myself both from Colombia. We had a good time laughing at each other in this class as we butchered the English language at times unwillingly.
After school, Sammy took me to the restaurant where he worked. It was a very luxurious place. I could tell by the atmosphere that this was a classy place. My cousin had described it to me, but his description lacked the ambiance I received while being there. Sammy said: “It’s a real fancy place filled with rich folks. If they like you then you can make a lot of money here.” I met with Sammy’s boss, who was the head of the kitchen; he was a tall, thin man who spoke very little Spanish. His Spanish would only be good enough for us to understand each other. He explained to me that I would be working as a bus boy and would be clearing tables, “They won’t mind you,” he said. I wondered who “they” were, but I did not ask. Sammy introduced me to the rest of the kitchen staff. He explained to me how we really didn’t talk to chefs or waiters; instead, we spoke mostly with the other bus boys and the dishwashers. This separation seemed odd to me, but again I did not ask questions. Upon meeting the dishwashers, I found out who “they” were, the dishwashers said: “Oh, I see why the ‘gringo’ put you out there instead of in here. The ‘ricos’ will like you better than us.” I realized they were referring to the difference between our skin tones. They were Mexicans with a slightly darker complexion, and although I am Hispanic I have a very white complexion due to my background.
I should take this moment to describe a little bit about my roots. My father is originally from Syria, but lived in Turkey when he was young. He immigrated to South America fleeing from the Turkish wars at that time. He was a tall, white man with light eyes. My mother was born in Colombia, South America, however her mother was originally from France. Therefore, my family did not fit the stereotype of the tan, dark eyed, and dark haired Hispanic. This is why the rich people who dined at the restaurant would not mind seeing me during their dinner as my boss had suggested. I guess I would not spoil their dinner or clash with their whiteness, which I disagreed with and was disgusted with the segregation of it all. After all, I was still Hispanic like most of the other members in the kitchen, and I felt we should all be treated the same.
Sammy and I entered this routine life of school and work everyday. The days passed quickly because of this repetitiveness. My English was improving everyday as I used my nights at the restaurant to study. I would listen to people’s conversations while they dined and tried to understand and learn new words. I would often pick one table and only concentrate on them the whole night, detailing their every motion, speech, and appearance. The men sat eating dinner wearing their spotless white shirts and perfectly tailored suits. The women joined the men in their glamorous dresses, sparkling jewels, and perfectly pinned hair. The most amazing part about these people having dinner reflected in their ability to ignore everything and everyone around them. I often wondered, if they ignore me this much and supposedly liked me, how would they be if one of the dishwashers were out here? Would they ignore them more than me or notice them because they were different? I kept these thought to myself because whenever I tried to comment about it with Sammy he would say: “Stop thinking so much, just be happy that you are making money.” Once again proving this new life had changed him.
Once I finished high school I decided to go back home and help my parents with the family business. I was not ashamed to come home at this point because I had proven myself, not only to my parents, but also, to myself. I worried that if I stayed any longer I might begin to change the way Sammy had changed. I did not want to accept the things he accepted at school and at work. I wanted to stay in touch with my roots, and not disregard them in order to fit in with some people I didn’t even like. I never told Sammy about how he had changed, but now I wish I would have done so. Sammy and I drifted apart and we’ve lost touch ever since I left America.